I knew I was going to fuck him the moment I opened the door.

He stood there with that sideways grin on his face, wearing a button-up shirt and a black ball cap. In the five years we’d been friends, he was usually shirtless or in an old band tee, so the decision to wear something nicer told me that I had him right where I wanted him.

He stepped inside and pulled a small baggie from his pocket. I took it from him, spilling the leafy green nugs onto a metal tray on the table. I reached for the grinder, then felt his hand on mine, gently stopping me.

“I’ve got it,” he said firmly, pulling a pre-rolled joint from his pack of cigarettes. I smiled and stood.

“Want some wine?” I asked.

“Sounds great,” he said, smiling back.

We’d been friends for a long time, but the tension had always been there - unspoken, simmering. He was taller than me, slender, with unkempt dark curls and piercing blue eyes. I’d flirted with him before - lingering fingers while passing a joint, shoulders brushing at shows, even sitting on his lap at a party once. The timing had just never been right.

Until now.

I sank into my brown floral couch with two oversized glasses of white wine, then leaned forward to play some music on my laptop. Smoke puffed between his cupped hands as he lit the joint and took a few hits before passing it to me.

“I love this song,” he said, drumming softly on the coffee table. I grinned to myself, pleased. Our tastes always seemed to line up - music, movies, how we spent our time. Being around him never came with pressure. It was easy.

The couch was wide enough to keep space between us, but with each pass of the joint, each passing conversation, we found ourselves a little closer. I leaned back, stretching sideways along the couch, my smooth, tan legs draped across his lap. His hands landed on my knees and slowly traveled up my thighs, a little further each time we laughed or shared something we both loved. I wanted him - desperately - but I kept my composure. My short gray dress barely covered anything; an obvious but strategic move on my part. 

By the time we finished smoking, I could feel how hard he was beneath my legs. I knew I could have him, and I didn’t plan to miss the chance.

I sat up and shifted onto his lap, straddling him. Our eyes locked over the rims of our wine glasses as we took a slow sip. He set his glass down first, then took mine and placed it next to his. I pulled the hat off his head and placed it on mine, giggling as his hands landed firmly on my waist. My arms stretched lazily around his shoulders, and I rolled my hips just slightly - making my intentions very clear.

I wanted him. And I needed him to have all of me.

I leaned in to kiss him, my long brown hair falling around our faces, and he melted into it. All the waiting, all the tension; it spilled out between us in waves. His hands gripped my ass, and I let out a soft moan, grinding against his lap without thinking. I was already so wet for him, desperate for him to feel just how much I wanted this.

My fingers traced down his chest and I eagerly unbuttoned his shirt one button at a time. I’d seen him shirtless a hundred times, but this was different. This time, I got to touch him with intention, with pure lust. I opened his shirt, and I dragged my fingernails down, leaving faint lines on his skin.

I pulled my dress over my head in one quick motion and tossed it aside. His hands moved up my back, unclasping my bra, and his tongue found my nipple as the bra slipped from my shoulders to the floor. I leaned back, offering him my nearly bare body, letting him take what I knew he desperately wanted, too.

Then I leaned in, arching my back, gently pressing his earlobe between my tongue and teeth.

His hands squeezed my ass again, fingers creeping closer to my eager pussy. From the way he touched me, I could tell he had been dying for this as long as I had.

“Do you want to go to the bedroom?” I whispered.

I had barely gotten the words out when he eagerly responded. He lifted me instantly, carrying me down the hall and tossing me onto the bed. The waterbed gave beneath me with a soft slosh, and I watched him unbuckle his pants in the orange glow of the string lights. He pulled my panties off and climbed on top of me, kissing me deeply as his fingers slid inside.

“Fuck,” he murmured into my mouth, surprised by how wet I was. He pulled back, looking down at me - those usual ice-blue eyes overtaken by black pupils, wild with want.

He pushed my legs apart with his knee and entered me in one smooth stroke.

I gasped at the stretch, not quite prepared for the way he filled me, and he groaned at my tightness. His hand cradled my face as he moved, watching my eyes while he fucked me. He was intense, completely focused -  connected. Our rhythm matched effortlessly: my body arching to meet him, necklaces clinking together around my neck, our breath syncing like we were made to move this way.

It was raw and intimate, something deeper than just sex. A kind of trance. He only broke eye contact to kiss me, and my pussy fluttered around him each time he did, aching to keep him there; to come again and again with him inside me.

We didn’t talk - just soft moans and gasps, moving together in dark, desperate harmony. Every time he hit the thrust that sent me over the edge, my head fell back and he pressed soft, claiming kisses down my neck and collarbone.

He started to fuck me harder, faster, deeper. I whimpered as I took him in, clinging to his shoulders. He held my face, eyes locked on mine, and I began to shake - my whole body unraveling for him. I felt myself start to let go, soaking him, my pussy squeezing around his cock.

“Fuucckk,” he groaned, drawing it out like he couldn’t hold it back. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

He pulled out and stroked himself quickly, still watching me. I grinned up at him from beneath, flushed and delighted, as his eyes closed and his body shuddered. A long, low moan escaped his lips as he came; warmth spilling onto my bare stomach in slow, pulsing waves. He took his time, panting through it, savoring every drop.

When he caught his breath, he leaned down to kiss me.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, softly.

He disappeared for a moment, then returned with a warm towel, gently wiping me clean. He sat down on the edge of the bed, the amber glow of the lights casting soft shadows on his back. I could make out the pattern of freckles across his shoulders, the curve of his spine, the lines of his muscles as he moved.

He placed two cigarettes in his mouth and lit them both, then passed one to me as I pulled the sheet up to cover myself, just enough.

“You can stay over, if you want,” I said, trying to sound casual. “It’s fine if you need to leave, but you don’t have to.”

He smiled, placing his hand on my thigh.

“I rolled a blunt for the morning before I came over.”

I grinned, grateful for the dark room hiding my blushing face, and leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder. The music played softly in the next room, and we sat in the silence together, warm and spent.